


cinnamon sugar donut holes

by catpoop



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Canon Universe, Domestic, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Gavin Reed, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, but more domestic than pwp-y
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24178150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/catpoop
Summary: When Dt. Gavin Reed does not show up to work for two consecutive days, RK900 takes it upon himself to personally pay the detective a home visit.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 26
Kudos: 236





	cinnamon sugar donut holes

**Author's Note:**

> was thinking about this last night while Trying to be asleep...  
> it would not leave me alone until i wrote it all today

RK900 hears the imperceptible sounds of distress the moment he steps onto the fifth floor landing. Of course, to him, the eight decibel whimpers register as clearly as a hundred-forty gunshot. This means that RK900 can also hear with crystal clarity what the other residents on floors four to six of 2601 Kings are doing. He tunes them out with a frown. He had been sent here with a mission – to retrieve Detective Gavin Reed – and upstairs’ potentially-lethal argument is irrelevant to his current task. 

At the same time, RK900 ignores the hundreds of visual cues popping up on his HUD, demanding investigation. Trust the Detective to live in a location rivalling a crime scene. Perhaps only by ‘knowing thine enemy’ does he achieve such a high success rate. RK900 makes a note to inquire.

He raps on the door to apartment 512 in three short bursts. _Rap rap rap._ There is no answer. The eight decibel noises do not increase in any semblance of answer. Fortunately, RK900 was designed with stealth and infiltration in mind, and overriding the electronic lock is child’s play.

He quietly closes the door behind him. Like the corridor outside, Detective Reed’s abode is brimming with evidence of slovenly human existence, and RK900 steps carefully around a container of takeout far past its use-by date in his path towards the only closed door in the apartment.

The noises increase to thirty three decibels. Snuffling, throaty. Disgusting.

He lets himself in without bothering to knock.

“Detective Reed, your presence is required at the station.”

The Detective in question does not look well. He lifts his head a fraction from the disgusting pillowcase into which he had been making those noises and peers blearily at RK900. RK900 takes a moment to take in the unmade bed, the empty glass on the nightstand, the clothes strewn about the carpeted floor. The unwashed human form demanding his attention – naked as the day he was born, leaking bodily fluid. It is objectively disgusting.

If the plates forming his face could move in such a way, RK900 would be wrinkling his nose. He settles for a slight frown instead.

“Detective Reed,” RK900 repeats, slightly louder, when the human continues to stare at him in a daze.

“Whuh?” After his eloquent contribution, Reed returns to a foetal position and RK900 determines the conversation concluded. 

It doesn’t take a cutting-edge vital signs monitor to tell that Reed is in no shape to be returning to work. RK900 automatically sends an email to the Captain (and a carbon copy to the Detective) before approaching the bed. 

“Detective. You are in heat.” 

“Mhh.” Reed makes another sound, which RK900 takes as an affirmative. The heat aid twitching at the junction of his thighs is further evidence.

“You are clearly insufficiently equipped to handle this yourself.”

Reed offers no answer this time, but RK900 supposes it is his civic duty to assist his ailing partner. The slight frown has fixed itself on his face as he stands by the bed and sits down with the barest grimace. The action jostles Reed, who lets out another groan.

RK900 feels his lips thin as he folds his sleeves above his elbows. “This will not be pleasant, but it is necessary.” He removes the heat aid with a slow tug, using his other hand to hold the human in place when he tries to squirm away. 

“Fck!” Reed yelps. RK900 isolates the audio file and files it away in a folder full of instances of Reed betraying his own brand of false bravado and masculine fragility. He tosses the heat aid to one side immediately after.

There’s no point wiping his hand clean on the sheets though, seeing what he’s about to do next.

Cyberlife had not programmed him to do this, but a quick online search equips RK900 with enough information to assist the Detective far better than the ancient plastic toy could ever hope to achieve. It glistens wetly at him. RK900 feels his frown deepen.

Reed snuffles pitifully into his pillow, and RK900 takes it upon himself to set a countdown timer for three minutes. He shouldn’t need any more than that.

Reed yelps again at the first prod to his prostate, squirming forwards in his bed until RK900 restrains him with an iron grip on one flailing ankle.

With the position sorted, the rest of the process is almost… boring. Mundane. RK900 crooks his finger, and the human makes another sound. He clips another audio file and saves it away.

RK900 does not understand his predecessor’s fascination with sexual activity. Perhaps it is Connor’s choice of secondary gender. Perhaps it is the choice of human – but RK900 finds Lieutenant Henry ‘Hank’ Anderson equally, if not more repulsive. Perhaps it is the challenge in eliciting as outlandish a human reaction as possible.

Reed makes a noise not dissimilar to the last time he inhaled a cinnamon donut and spent five minutes licking sugar off his fingers – RK900 closes the video file that pops up and focuses on his present task.

He flexes and extends his index finger for the hundred and thirteenth time since the timer started, and Reed gasps, arches, and collapses onto the bed in a sweaty mess of limbs. RK900 wipes his hand on the sheets. 

As he makes to move away from the bed, a grabby hand pulls at his shirt. Reed beams at him with the same dazed expression that had been on his face for the past five minutes, and it sends an unpleasant ‘feeling’ through RK900’s processors. He sits back down as Reed whines:

“W’nna cuddle…”

The inflection of his statement is unclear, and RK900 debates whether or not to interpret it as a question and refuse the offer. He makes it through about ten milliseconds of processing before his vocal unit blurts:

“I will permit you ten minutes.” 

Reed closes his eyes and grins. “Co-ol.” 

With the human fully relaxed, RK900 easily rolls him over in bed to make room for himself. He stiffly eases into a supine position, clearing the alerts informing him of all the various wet spots on the bedding under him. Not a moment later, Reed rolls back over to cling to him, starfish-like. RK900 lies there and lets his countdown timer tick down.

Ten minutes later, he pushes the sleeping human off him and sits upright in one fluid movement. This wakes Reed up as well, and for the first time since RK900 had let himself into the apartment, Reed seems to be aware of what is going on.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Gavin screeches. Last he remembered, he was having a nice nap, by himself, in his _personal_ apartment. Nines returns his stare.

“If you do not remember, Detective, let me jog your memory. I let myself into your apartment upon hearing your sounds of distress, after which I assisted you in achieving orgasm,” Nines states calmly, continuing to sit on _his_ side of the bed.

His robotic voice is the last thing Gavin wants to hear after a nap, especially when he’s feeling physically wrung out and whacked in the head as all fuck. The last part of his sentence doesn’t register until a split second later.

“Wait –” Gavin tugs the sheets over himself in a sudden panic. “I don’t – Don’t fuckin’ come in here and fuckin’ – just get out! Get out!! Leave me the fuck alone!” He gesticulates violently in an attempt to distract from the heat blooming across his face.

Nines remains where he is, statue-like and unblinking. “You are currently nearing a state of dehydration, Detective. It would be imprudent to ‘leave you alone’ to your own devices.”

Gavin sputters. “What, you think I can’t fuckin’ take care of myself?”

“No.” His eyes do not roll, but Gavin swears he sees the android give him his drollest look. If he were in better physical state, he would be up in arms about it. Physical arms. Throwing hands – y’know. 

Maybe – maybe Nines has a point. 

He hesitates. “What are you planning to do, then? Sit there and stare at me until I actually die of thirst?” Gavin can’t remember the last time he filled up the glass on his nightstand, but then, neither can he remember much of the past few days. What day is it, even? 

“I will fetch you food and drink, and you will go wash yourself until you no longer reek like a week-old crime scene.” Nines points in the general direction of the bathroom, though knowing him, he probably has the direction down to the millimetre. “It is Tuesday.”

“Shit,” Gavin groans. “No one thought to send your ass after me yesterday? And loads of guys love this stank – you should be paying me.”

Nines silently stands. “No. Do men regularly pay you for sexual services?”

“It was a joke, asshole.” Gavin scowls, the embarrassment having quickly worn off. Now he’s just angry. And hungry. “Go make me a sandwich and I’ll let you soap up my ass for free.”

“Is that a request,” Nines states flatly.

“No!”

Now that he’s properly conscious, Gavin has to agree that his bedsheets are far from… habitable. He picks himself off his bed with a groan and stumbles bare-ass naked through the flat until he can collapse into the shower cubicle. Nines does not turn around as he passes by the kitchen, but he can feel the freak judging him through the back of his head. Whatever. There’s ass to be soaping up.

The hot water is a balm on his aching muscles, and the lingering heat in his belly is almost indistinguishable from the shower water beating down on him. Now if he just had an alpha in here with him, and enough shitty greasy food to tide him over for the week… 

Gavin hopes Nines is making something shitty and greasy. Hopefully coffee to go with it. He would call out over the shower spray, if his throat wasn’t raw from how dehydrated he is. Maybe Nines really did have a point. In the meantime, Gavin gulps at the shower water, coughs, bangs his chest. 

He cursorily dries himself with a towel and runs, bare-ass naked, back to his bedroom. Nines has disappeared from the kitchen and is now standing in Gavin’s room, next to a pile of soiled sheets.

“I would deposit these in a laundry hamper, but yours is full.”

Gavin brushes past him to fetch a clean t-shirt. “Just put it _in_ the washing machine, dumbass.”

“I also made you an egg sandwich. There is a glass of water on your nightstand.” 

Gavin turns around like a starved bloodhound to locate said sandwich. He didn’t even know he had eggs in the house. The water he gulps down in two swallows and the sandwich is half-devoured before he even begins to wonder why Nines is doing all this for him.

Gavin is not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he is definitely one to punch the gift horse in the jaw, and the flank, plus a final kick to the back of the knee. 

“This isn’t a sandwich,” he mumbles, mouth full. “’S just an egg and toast.”

Nines looks up from where he is efficiently fitting new sheets onto Gavin’s bed. “It is two pieces of bread enclosing an edible filling.”

Gavin shoves the last pieces of crust into his mouth and wipes his hand on his thigh. “As opposed to inedible?” He burps.

Nines silently zips the duvet cover closed. 

This is probably the right time to say a ‘thank you’ of some sort, Gavin supposes, but he’s not that kind of person. He collapses onto the freshly-made bed, groaning in appreciation. 

“Shit, I ought to have an android making my bed all the time.”

“That is no longer a racially acceptable statement to make, Detective.” Nines makes a sound that is probably tagged as ‘disapproving_grumble15.wav’ in his big computer head. God knows Gavin has heard enough variants of the same irritated sound. He waves a careless hand as he buries himself further in his bed.

“Whatever. Are you gunna leave now or what?”

“It would be imprudent to leave you alone,” Nines repeats. It doesn’t sound like he’s moved from the bedside, but then again, the giant asshole can move without a whisper. Gavin turns his head and squints at the solid thighs an arm’s length away. Yep. Still there.

“I’ll just call an alpha,” he mumbles. Why he hadn’t already done so, was the big question. Gavin wracks his head and comes up with absolutely nothing. He shoos the android a second time. “Piss off. ‘M big boy.” 

With that, he pulls the duvet up over his shoulders and settles on his stomach, intent on getting as much uninterrupted sleep as he can before the next episode hits. Nines is quiet for so long that Gavin, drifting off, has almost forgotten his presence. At least until that quality-controlled robot voice starts up again.

“I may not have been programmed for such functions, but –”

Gavin rolls over with a violent groan. “ _What?_ If you’re gonna whip out your sexbot dick, then just _leave._ Please.”

Nines doesn’t even react to his use of the p-word. He had congratulated Gavin on it once, albeit sarcastically, but it had still felt good to his attention-starved brain. “– I can easily predict and cater to your needs. I would prefer a living partner to one who is unable to survive a routine physiological event.”

“I drank some shower water,” Gavin grumbles. 

Even with his eyes closed, he can feel the murderous stare boring into his head. He smiles into his pillow.

“…Very well. I will return when your vitals fall once more to dangerous levels.”

And then that’s that, Gavin thinks. A fluke. He’ll text one of the horny assholes in his contacts _after_ this quick nap…

He wakes up on Thursday morning with his face smushed into a firm chest and a throbbing ache somewhere in the back of his brain.

“Whuh the –”

His makeshift pillow vibrates under his cheek. “It is Thursday, Detective.” 

Well. That rules out any of the contacts on his phone, because Gavin would be sooner dead than tell a stranger anything about himself. He also immediately recognises the voice, even in his addled state.

“You were in a lowered state of consciousness for the entirety of Wednesday,” Nines continues. “I took the liberty to clear out your kitchen and refrigerator, and feed you leftovers that were the least likely to result in severe infection and death.”

Gavin reflexively smacks his lips, distracted. “That’s like, good, right?”

“I doubt even you would enjoy –” Nines pauses momentarily, “ _shitting_ yourself to death.”

Gavin considers it. “Huh. Wait – didn’t I kick you out of my flat? Why the fuck are you still here?”

A hand closes around his wrist as he tries to beat Nines’ chest in. Both body parts are titanium-reinforced, and Gavin scowls. Despite himself, he is still the little bitch draped across the android in his bed, so he can’t – _shouldn’t_ complain.

“You will be fit to return to work by next week,” Nines says. “And then we will only need see each other in a work capacity.”

“Yeah. Cool. No cuddling at work,” Gavin replies, still cuddling.

“That would be inappropriate.”

“Yeah.”

The strange haze that falls over him then doesn’t disappear until Nines clears his throat. Rudely jolted back into reality, Gavin doesn’t even stop to think about the whys and hows of androids and throats and throat- _clearing_. He pulls away to lie flat on his back and stare at the ceiling.

Nines stands up and takes a moment to fix his stupid button-up and slacks. “I will make you breakfast.”

“…Yeah.” Breakfast, Gavin thinks faintly. He hopes it doesn’t give him the shits.

**Author's Note:**

> comments r super appreciated
> 
> [tumblr](https://swummeng-geys.tumblr.com)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/hashtag_yikes)


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